


knaves all three

by maledict



Category: VIXX
Genre: Cannibalism, Gen, Murder, Pre-Slash, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 03:42:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12290469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maledict/pseuds/maledict
Summary: The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker.





	knaves all three

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/ambersmoles/status/829354946705231873) tweet. Happy spook month. Beta'd by professional godsend and friend wife, Ren. ♥

“Where’re you from, kid?”

“Daejeon.”

“Wet behind the ears, eh? Fresh out of basic training?”

“Yes, sir.”

His senior officer twirled a pen between his fingers. “Well, this isn’t Daejeon. We’re different than what you’re used to.”

It was, in fact, a tiny town in the middle of Yeongnam: trees stretched in every direction, and a range of mountains rose up in the far distance. When Sanghyuk had first driven in, there had been nothing but uninterrupted greenery for long minutes, and then suddenly the backwoods road had opened up into a main street with a row of quaint little shops on either side. The police station was a tiny brick building with six officers and a telephone line straight to the larger, more equipped Daegu police department.

“You know why you’re here?”

Sanghyuk nodded slowly. “To replace someone. Didn’t he die? Bear attack, right?”

“We think so. Dragged him off. Never found the body." The pen went _tap-tap-tap_ on the desk. "So don’t go off wandering the forest at night.”

“I won’t, sir.”

It was probably meant to scare him, but it’d been said so casually, without any obvious malice, that he wasn’t exactly sure what the intended effect was supposed to have been. His senior seemed genuinely unperturbed by the news of his coworker’s disappearance.

By lunch hour, Sanghyuk was fighting to stay awake. The town was so tiny that barely anything happened: no trouble, no call-ins, no reports to file. He swiveled in his chair, rubbed his eyes, and asked, “You know where I could go to get some decent coffee?”

One of the other officers pointed him in the direction of a small café on the corner of the high street. The moment he stepped inside, his nose was bathed in the thick fragrance of brewing coffee and freshly baked bread; something acoustic was playing softly in the background, and an older couple were poring over a leisurely game of chess in the back. They both looked at him as he entered, heads raising in uncanny tandem.

Sanghyuk nodded politely at them, vaguely unnerved. The man behind the counter turned to greet him and gave a wide, slightly lopsided grin. “You must be the transfer,” he said, taking in Sanghyuk’s crisp uniform. “Newcomers get a free pastry.”

Sanghyuk raised an eyebrow. “Just one?”

“We're not a charity,” scoffed the man, faux-offended. His name tag read _Lee Jaehwan._ He told Sanghyuk to pick something out for himself, and while he was perusing the pastries on display, the door jingled. A man in a dark coat came in and went to the counter to order.

“Vanilla latte,” said the man, almost too softly to hear. He glanced at Sanghyuk, utterly expressionless. Sanghyuk blinked. After a moment, he offered a hesitant wave, which the man ignored. After a long, awkward minute, where they both stood next to each other but did not interact, Jaehwan came back with the latte. The man took it, gave Jaehwan a little nod, and left as quietly as he’d come.

Sanghyuk watched him leave. “He didn't…”

“Pay?” Jaehwan dried his hands with a dishtowel and laid it over his shoulder. “It’s okay. Taekwoon-hyung gets his coffee on the house. He's our butcher.”

Sanghyuk had never seen a butcher dress like that. “Butcher? Aren't you supposed to be a bakery?”

“We make our pastries with the pig fat he saves. Wonshik says it’s better than butter.” Jaehwan gestured behind himself at the door into the kitchen. “He’s the pastry chef. I just make coffee.”

Sanghyuk picked a bungeoppang from the display case and ordered an Americano to go. Jaehwan sang along with the soft tinkling strains of the café playlist while he pulled espresso from the machine; Sanghyuk ate the pastry while he waited. It was perfectly sweet and crispy, filled with soft, half-melted chocolate shavings and fluffy choux-cream. “This is really good,” he said, still chewing, as Jaehwan handed him his coffee.

“I’ll tell Wonshik you liked it,” Jaehwan said.

On impulse, he dug his handphone out of his pocket and pulled up an old ID photo of the missing officer.

“One thing before I go,” he said, showing Jaehwan the screen. “When did you last see this man?”

Jaehwan peered over the counter at the photo. “Isn't he the officer who went missing? He used to come here a lot in the mornings, but I didn’t really see him outside of work. You should try Fate Candle—Hakyeon-hyung knows everybody.”

“Thanks, I will,” Sanghyuk said. He stepped out of the café, coffee in hand.

 

* * *

 

From a stoplight down the street, he watched Taekwoon carry a large paper bag into the candle shop. He left after three short minutes, empty-handed. Sanghyuk waited three more, finished his coffee, tossed the cup into a nearby garbage can, and went inside.

Immediately, an overpowering cascade of scents washed over him, blanket-thick. The walls were lined in shelves of candles and little bottles of perfume, big and small, in every color: some were lit, which made the kaleidoscope of glasses flicker prettily, in all different hues. There was an equally pretty man behind the counter, taking jars of what looked like gelatinous chunks of tofu out of Taekwoon’s paper bag.

The man looked up. “Oh, hi,” he said. “You're Officer Han Sanghyuk, right?”

Word traveled fast, apparently. Sanghyuk nodded. He asked, “What's that?”

“This?” The man picked up a jar. “Looks gross, right? It's leaf fat. We use it to make tallow candles.”

Sanghyuk blinked, remembering what Jaehwan had told him: _better than butter._ “Us?”

“Well, Hakyeon-hyung. He does most of the work.” The man flashed a toothy, nervous grin. “I’m Hongbin. Sometimes I help.”

“You think I could speak to him?”

“Sure,” Hongbin said. The wattage of his smile dimmed somewhat. He gave Sanghyuk a vaguely perplexed look, turned, and called over his shoulder: “Hyung, Officer Han wants to talk to you!”

After a short pause, a faint voice answered, “Bring him back!”

Hongbin took Sanghyuk around the counter and into the back room, bringing the jars of fat. A slim man—Hakyeon—was leaning over the stove, melting wax in a double boiler. The room was humid, thick with the pungent fragrance of perfumes and essential oils. Rows and rows of taper candles hung from a drying rack next to a bank of dipping vats, and several empty tin molds were set out on a long oak table. Old, dark dye stains splashed across the wood.

“Sorry,” Hakyeon said, turning. “I don't like to leave the stove alone.” He spotted the lard in Hongbin’s arms. “Ah! Taekwoonie came by?”

He took the jars from Hongbin and put them on the counter. As he unscrewed the tops, he shot a pointed look at Hongbin, who heaved a closed-mouthed sigh and went back out to the storefront.

“I hope you don't mind doing it like this,” Hakyeon said, apologetically. There was a faint sheen of sweat to his temples, and he smelled strongly of jasmine and pine. His fingertips were tinted with blotches of pigment.

“It's fine,” said Sanghyuk. He watched Hakyeon measure out half a cup of water into a big pan sitting on an unused burner. He turned the heat to a low setting, dumped the fat in, and covered the pot. “This isn't a formal interview or anything. I was just curious if you knew the guy I replaced.”

“Of course I knew him,” Hakyeon said. “I know everybody. I was sad to hear he died.”

“Went missing,” Sanghyuk corrected. “No body.”

Hakyeon gave him a wan smile. “Wasn’t it a bear attack? Not many people survive those.”

“Well, humor me,” Sanghyuk said. “When did you last see him?”

Hakyeon leaned a hip against the counter. “Hmm,” he said. “About a week ago. We waved to each other on the sidewalk. Well, I waved to him. I think he was heading to Jaehwannie’s café?”

“Did he have any close friends?”

“Everyone's friendly here,” Hakyeon said.

“Anyone else new in town? Drifters, hikers?”

“Just you,” Hakyeon said. He fixed Sanghyuk with a heavy, unreadable look. The tallow was thick in Sanghyuk’s nose, beginning to melt and sizzle in the pan. It smelled delicious, like someone was frying up some samgyeopsal. The sense-memory made his mouth water.

He swallowed it back, grinned self-deprecatingly, and shrugged a shoulder. “Guess so,” he said. “Well, thanks for your time, Hakyeon-ssi.”

“Please, call me hyung.” Hakyeon put his dye-stained hand on Sanghyuk’s forearm and smiled. “Come back in a few hours? I’d love some help.”

 

* * *

 

Sanghyuk left the station around six, changed out of his uniform, and went back to the candle store. Hongbin was nowhere to be found. Hakyeon was behind the counter instead, closing up shop for the evening. His face lit up when Sanghyuk came in. “Ah, Hyukkie!” he said warmly, as if he’d known Sanghyuk all his life, and motioned him into the back room once more.

The fat had been slowly simmering for hours, and was now mostly liquid. Hakyeon skimmed the viscous remains off the top and showed him how to strain the rest through a cheesecloth to remove any remaining impurities. Sanghyuk helped pour the resulting liquid into several pretty hexagonal glasses Hakyeon had prepared beforehand. Each one was threaded with a waxy white wick, held in place by a pair of disposable chopsticks. When they were done, Hakyeon smiled blindingly at him, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, “These need to solidify overnight. Are you hungry? Let’s get dinner.”

They met up with Jaehwan as he was coming out of the darkened bakery, shrugging on a coat against the cool weather. Behind him followed a lean, sleepy-eyed man with his jacket half off one shoulder. He was almost as tall as Sanghyuk.

“You make good bungeoppang,” Sanghyuk said, after they were introduced.

“Thanks,” said Wonshik, smiling. He nodded at Jaehwan. “Hyung told me you liked it.”

They ate at a small but packed restaurant at the end of the street. A town favorite, it looked like. Sanghyuk ended up pouring for each hyung more than once, giving their shot glasses his full attention; he poured even if they were only half-full, watching to see if they'd notice. When everyone seemed to have crossed the threshold into warm, pleasant tipsiness, he said, “So, what’s up with Taekwoon?”

At once, all three heads turned to look at him. Hakyeon said, “What do you mean?”

Sanghyuk popped a piece of fried egg into his mouth. “Seems kind of scary.”

“He’s just shy,” Hakyeon said, smiling. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t worry about our Taekwoonie. He does his best for us.”

Sanghyuk glanced between all of them, perplexed. It was almost as if they were braced for something; the air was vibrating with a strange tension that hadn’t been there a moment before. He got the unnerving feeling they were all waiting for him to say the wrong thing.

He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “Okay, hyung,” he said, and let it drop.

As one, they all returned to their food. The tension bled away. Sanghyuk topped off Jaehwan’s half-full glass, and Jaehwan thumped him on the back, and it was like the past few minutes had never happened; but they didn't drink any more.

When they’d finished, Hakyeon paid— _hyung’s treat, so be grateful_ , he’d said—and they spilled back out onto the sidewalk, stuffed full of rich, heavy food. Wonshik peeled off soon after. “I said I’d grab another drink with Hongbin,” he said. “Catch you guys later? Good to meet you, Sanghyuk.” He waved and went the opposite direction, fishing his handphone out of his pocket. Jaehwan made his own excuses, saluted, and started down a side street that led to a small apartment building near the town hall.

“I should be heading home too,” Sanghyuk said, turning to Hakyeon. “Thanks for dinner, hyung.”

Hakyeon smiled brightly. “Any time, Hyukkie. Just ask.”

 

* * *

 

Later in the week, after work, he found a little box on his doorstep. Opening it revealed one of the finished tallow candles in a wrapping of lavender tissue paper, the clear rendered fat having congealed into pure white lard. It smelled faintly of citrus—some kind of essential oil.

There was a note with it that read: _Hyuk-ah, I'm happy you've come to protect us. Light this and think of me._

Sanghyuk took it inside, put it on his bedside table, and lit the wick.

 

* * *

 

On Saturday, he decided to visit the butcher shop.

It was small, clean, and modern. The floors were an ash-grey, polished wood, and the walls were done in Venetian plaster and black brick wainscoting. A fan circled overhead. Wonshik was waiting at the counter, browsing the cuts of meat in the display case.

He glanced up, saw Sanghyuk, and looked hunted for a split second—but then he broke into a small, sheepish grin. “Hey, officer.”

Sanghyuk went over to him. “Here for the leaf fat?”

“Ox blood, actually,” Wonshik said. “For haejang-guk.”

Sanghyuk raised his eyebrows. “For the bakery?”

“For himself,” came a quiet voice.

Sanghyuk looked up. Taekwoon was coming out of the back room, pushing the swinging door closed behind him. Sanghyuk glanced at his hands; big, with long, capable fingers. Scrubbed clean, save for a thin crust of red under the well-kept nails. He was carrying a large maroon paper bag. The congealed cubes of blood were wrapped up inside, probably. Soft and fresh.

Wonshik took the bag. “Thanks, hyung,” he said. He paid and left quickly.

“Can I help you?” Taekwoon said, eventually. His eyes bored into Sanghyuk like needle points, disconcertingly sharp.

“Actually, yeah,” said Sanghyuk, taking out his handphone. He brought up the picture he’d showed Jaehwan and turned the screen toward Taekwoon, watching his face. “Wondering when you last saw this man?”

Taekwoon’s expression did not change. “I don’t remember,” he said. “He didn’t buy from me.”

“But you knew him?”

“I know he’s the police officer who went missing. We never spoke.”

Sanghyuk pocketed his phone. That wasn’t hard to believe. Taekwoon didn’t seem like the type to strike up conversations on his own—not with strangers, at least. “Well, thanks anyway,” he said, and bent over the display case. “Hey, do you sell gopchang?”

 

* * *

 

During his next shift, he was called into the senior inspector’s office.

“I don't remember asking you to investigate a bear attack,” said the senior inspector. He didn’t look angry, but his tone was patronizing, and he seemed almost—disappointed.

Sanghyuk kept his face blank. He’d hoped it would come back to the station; the café was a local favorite, and Jaehwan didn’t seem to have a gossip filter. He would’ve mentioned Sanghyuk to the first officer he saw. Sanghyuk wanted to argue on principle, because it _did_ concern him, but he knew the right answer: “Sorry, sir.”

“You get your orders from me, understand? You don't go around on your own."

"Sorry, sir."

“You’re on the lowest rung of the ladder here, Sanghyuk. Be careful you don’t step off."

“Yes, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.”

The senior inspector leaned forward. "We're a nice town with good people. Nothing bad ever happens here, and I want to keep it that way.”

Sanghyuk almost laughed.

His senior’s vague threats of punishment were exactly what he had been waiting for: nobody cared, except for him. True to his word, he stopped asking around. Instead, next Sunday evening, he drove to the butcher shop, cut his headlights across the street, and waited for Taekwoon to leave.

It was full dark by the time Taekwoon exited the shop. Sanghyuk followed him down the high street to the gas station at the edge of town. People passing through usually filled up there on their way out, but it was empty now, a desolate lot with a shabby little convenience store—and Taekwoon’s car, half-buried in the darkness nearby. Sanghyuk parked in a shaded drive across from the station and watched Taekwoon through his car window.

He was a pale smudge in the void through his windshield, unmoving, eyes fixed on the road in front of him. Sanghyuk watched him sit there for close to an hour, until a white pickup rolled into the gas station, and two young men got out and went inside. As they did, Taekwoon slipped quietly into the lot. Something silver flashed in his hand. He walked over to the pickup, bent over a tire, straightened, and went back to his car to wait.

The two men left the convenience store with a plastic bag full of beer and snacks, piled back into the truck, and drove away. Sanghyuk watched as Taekwoon pulled out after them. He could easily guess at the following chain of events: in a few minutes, they’d pull over, distressed at their sudden flat tire, and Taekwoon would stop to assist them.

Instead of tailing him down the road, Sanghyuk went back to the butcher shop and parked in an adjacent lot, out of sight. He waited there in the dark until he saw Taekwoon’s headlights pull back in, sweeping across the side of the building in a wide arc. That was his cue. He got out of the car carefully, quietly, and went in the front.

The storefront was dark, but a flicker of light came through the window of the door to the back rooms, along with the faint, muffled sounds of someone yelling through a gag. A familiar scent wafted through the air. Sanghyuk recognized it as one of Hakyeon’s candles—the same citrusy odor that he smelled each night before bed, tart and cleansing at the same time.

Sanghyuk quietly pushed open the swinging door and rounded the corner. The candle scent was stronger here, undercut by the smell of copper and ammonia. A human carcass, its head and arms freshly removed and stacked on table next to the electric saw, was hanging on a meat hook to drain. There was a plastic bucket positioned underneath the stubby neck, brimming with dark sticky blood. Hakyeon’s tallow candle burned away on a nearby shelf, like a vigil.

Taekwoon was there. He had his shirtsleeves rolled to just under his elbows, and he was skinning the body, separating large flaps of flesh from the fat. He had his back to Sanghyuk, but the young man who was bound and gagged on the floor squirmed and fell silent, staring up at him. His eyes were huge, pleading; a spark of hope had come into them, despite the wet sheen of tears. He thought Sanghyuk could save him.

“I was wondering where you got your meat,” Sanghyuk said. “That answers that, I guess.”

Taekwoon whipped around, knife in hand.

“Officer Han,” he said, after a moment. He seemed to be at a loss, fingers tightening on the handle of his knife. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Actually,” said Sanghyuk, conversationally, “I’m glad I did.”

Taekwoon’s mouth twisted, and he began to advance. He struck a menacing figure: eyes dark, blood streaked up his pale forearms, thick smears of it across his apron. He said, quietly, “You should know—the man you were asking about. I didn’t kill him.”

“I know you didn’t,” Sanghyuk said. “I did.”

Taekwoon stopped. He stared at Sanghyuk. “What?”

Sanghyuk allowed himself to grin, finally. “Back in Daejeon, I found out about a bunch of missing persons cases from this area, so I got curious. I wanted to meet whoever was really doing it, maybe help out. But I still had to do my service, so I arranged for an opening to get transferred here instead.” He shrugged. “You’re like me, so… I thought we could be friends.”

Taekwoon looked at him for a long moment, eyes glittering, and then he smiled. It was a startlingly sweet, boyish smile; relieved, almost. It took years off his face. Behind him, the man thrashed, struck his feet against the tile, and began to sob.

Taekwoon held out the knife, handle-first. He glanced at the struggling man. “Show me,” he said, softly.

Sanghyuk took it. “Sure thing, hyung,” he said, and did.

 


End file.
